Heavy Horses
by Loki's Symphony
Summary: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler. At the mercy of Oliver Cromwell's New Model Army in Commonwealth Britain, the Doctor is called upon to solve a series of murders which may not be entirely human in origin.
1. Chapter 1

The battered old blue box faded into existence in amongst a copse of willow trees, its light flashing as the time vortex stabilised itself. With a hiss the doors opened as it touched down, discharging its passengers into a bright summer morning.

"I tell you, Rose," the Doctor announced brightly as he adjusted his flowing ginger wig, "if you ever feel that this country of yours doesn't produce party animals, just take a trip to the 1660's. Monarchy restored, decade of fascist oppression finally relieved; you lot went _mental_."

"Try Tottenham Court Road, 3 o'clock Saturday morning," Rose replied through grit teeth as she struggled to get her wide skirt out of the TARDIS' door. "Cheaper, nearer and probably just as mental."

The Doctor turned and smirked as he watched Rose emerge flushed out of the TARDIS. She'd thrown a fit at the first sight of the dress she'd have to wear to blend in with the crowd; _I do not wear clothes that are wider than a car! _she'd screeched at the sight of the cage-like farthingale. "Rose, I've no desire to see you tottering about on a pair of stilettos in a dress that looks like a belt that's had a growth spurt in the middle of 21st-century London," he retorted as he pulled out the embroidered cuffs

on his justacorps, adjusting his cravat. "I can do that any time," he added more subtly.

He stumbled as an ivory fan smacked his shoulder, wielded by an indignant Rose. "I don't know how they got around," she complained, hitching up her voluminous skirt to meander through the trees. "It's like wearing a tent!"

"Funny, I swear I met a woman from the 45th century who said the same about hoodies," the Doctor replied smartly as he offered out his arm. Rose grasped the crook of his elbow, frowning as she let him lead her out of the woods. They were greeted by a picturesque panorama of 16th-century village life; ploughed fields rolled out, seemingly forever, dotted by farmhouses producing all the smells and sounds of country work. In the distance lay a small town, quiet and sleepy, though already beginning to bustle with the noise of tradesmen and smithies preparing for the day's work ahead.

Rose fanned herself idly as she scanned the unfolding world.. "It's just like out of a painting," she murmured, a wondrous smile beginning to spread over her face. The Doctor, however, was not so enamoured.

"The wrong painting," he replied with a frown. "We were meant to be in St. James' Park, in the middle of London!" He squinted to see what lay on the horizon. "We're at least…forty miles north of it, I'd say," he muttered, irritated.

"Oh, this is just gorgeous!" Rose interrupted, stepping forward as if to embrace the whole vista. "It's so bright and fresh and everything's just so…green!" The Doctor raised a single eyebrow. Had she heard a word he'd said?

"I said," he repeated more softly, "that we're forty miles from London. Can't flag down a black cab here, can't get the Intercity to Waterloo. If we're here in the 1660's, then we're _here _in the 1660's, we can't feasibly get anywhere el-"

His sudden silence intimidated Rose. "Doctor?" she asked, turning to face him. "What's wrong?" The Doctor was staring intently at a mass of men marching down the dirt road to the village. Pulling a pair of slim, brass binoculars out of an inside pocket his body tensed up as he saw a red-uniformed gentleman riding a white horse with his sword unsheathed, leading a body of up to a hundred stone-faced, pike-wielding soldiers directly to the unknowing village. "Doctor?" she asked again, grasping his arm. "Who are they?"

"They're the New Model Army," the Doctor replied with a dry mouth. "Oliver Cromwell's elite soldiers, one of the most brutal and feared army units your country's ever produced." He pocketed his binoculars and pulled off the hot, heavy wig to wipe the sweat from his brow. "We're _not _here in the 1660's," he said as he turned to Rose, "we're here in the 1650's." Rose's eyes widened in fear and confusion. "Welcome to the decade of fascist oppression."


	2. Chapter 2

Rose's skirt was by now high enough to show her knees as the Doctor led her quickly and quietly back through the trees, making their way back to the TARDIS. "But Cromwell wasn't a fascist!" she protested as she slipped on a mossy log, stumbling awkwardly as the Doctor gripped tighter onto her arm. "They've got a statue of him outside Parliament and everything, he was a hero, wasn't he?"

"Ask the Irish," the Doctor replied through grit teeth as his feet began to ache in the tough leather boots he'd adopted. His free hand desperately fumbled in the inner pocket of his justacorps, clenching around the TARDIS key. "Or the Jews, or the French. Henry the Eighth, Cromwell, Kitchener - the British really are very good at making heroes out of monsters."

The two reached the TARDIS and Rose grabbed the Doctor's wrist as he tried to insert the key. "How bad could it be?" she asked innocently. The connection between their eyes was broken by the harsh, metallic click of a hammer, followed by the shuffling of wood and metal in dozens.

"In the name of Oliver Cromwell, Lord Protector of these British Isles," came an aristocratic drawl, "I am placing you under arrest." The Doctor closed his eyes and sighed, raising his hands and turning to face his captor. A tall, youthful-looking officer sat astride a white horse, his pistol primed and ready. Around him a score of fully armoured pikemen stood with their weapons raised at the Doctor.

"They look like they're posing for a photo," Rose mumbled unhelpfully.

"May I ask by whom we're being captured?" The Doctor asked as he glanced over to Rose, gesturing to her to follow his lead. She raised her hands above her head with a gulp.

"I am Sir Philip de Pevensey," the young officer replied, loosening his aim somewhat. "Fourth Earl of Pevensey and Captain of the Ironsides."

The Doctor winced and sighed imperceptibly. "What do you want?" he asked, impatient.

"I'm asking the questions," the officer replied softly, putting his gun away. "What's that?" he demanded, pointing to the TARDIS.

"Privy," the Doctor replied brightly. "The wife does get amorous in the open air," he muttered confidentially, making Rose gasp, "but I don't like people…watching."

The officer pursed his lips, mulling something over in his mind. "Take them with us," he ordered at length, "bind them and bring them to the General." He rode off, his men following him as two burly lieutenants bound the Doctor and Rose's hands behind their backs. "Let's go", came a rough grunt as the soldiers rejoined the ranks.

"What's going on?" Rose whispered. The Doctor was browbeat and worried, turning his gaze to the leaf-covered forest floor.

"He told you himself," he whispered back, seemingly resigned to doom, "he's taking us to see the General." He could feel Rose's eyes burning a hole through his head as he turned and said:

"Cromwell."

***

The local Mayor's plush residence was occupied by a dozen soldiers, resplendent in lobster-pot helmets and bronze-gilded breastplates. The mayor sat in the chair he had, for so many years, faced and watched so many people sweat in. Through all the madness all he could think about was just how much sweat had accumulated in its soft cushioning over the years. The more he concentrated on being disgusted, the less he had to worry about the man before him.

"Letters addressed to French agencies detailing payment of prominent Members of Parliament passed through this town," the figure in the Mayor's usual seat stated, an accusatory finger pressing down into the desk. "We can find nowhere else these letters visited, and therefore I am forced to conclude that there is a spy somewhere in this town."

"But-" the Mayor babbled, his forehead glistening under the weight and heat of his lustrous wig and his accuser's gaze.

"But, nothing!" the figure spat back, slamming his fists into the desk. "The evidence is incontrovertible! And if in the face of such damning truth you must insist that it is false, then I am also forced to conclude that _you_ are in league with the spy, if not the bastard himself!"

"No!" the Mayor squealed, a pigletty squeak the pierced the ears of the soldiers that stood guard around him. "I knew nothing of this! We supported your troops during the war, our loyalty was never called to question! Men from our village died in battle for you!"

"And this is how you honour their memory?" the weatherbeaten man hissed dangerously. The silence was palpable, broken only by the whistling breaths of the desperate Mayor. "I believe there is a scrivener in this town, Mayor Reeve?" he asked, his callused, stubby fingers tapping at the desk impatiently.

The Mayor stared silently, stunned by the sudden change of tack. "Y-yes," he replied, nodding, "Matthew Farrar. He's a good man, fine man. He's not a spy."

"Matthew Farrar _is _a spy," he retorted, his stare boring through the Mayor's dull, yellowed eyes. "_My _spy." The Mayor's jaw went slack and he began to gasp. "Very skilled with a pen; in _any _way you care to imagine." Another squeal of horror rang out in the teak-walled office. "Take him to see Mister Farrar, corporal," he ordered the young guard by the door.

"Yes, General Cromwell," came the reply as the soldier hauled the Mayor up by the crook of the elbow and dragged his shuffling feet out of the door and off to an uncertain fate.

The General stood up from the chair and breathed in deeply, the nostrils of his huge nose flaring dangerously. He carried the weight of the world on his shoulders; he had fought too hard, and for too long, to see the empire he'd carved out for himself brought down by traitors and soft-hearts. The eleven remaining guards in the room stood in silence as the General stared out of the window, gazing out towards the English countryside and remembering when he himself had been a simple farmer before hearing the call to democracy and giving the common man a chance to fight.

Another soldier entered the room and addressed the General. "Lord Cromwell, Sir Philip de Pevensey has arrived with more captives." The General sighed and nodded, sitting heavily in the chair as the striking young officer strode in with his prisoners.

"Lord Cromwell, Sir," he announced with much pomp, "I found these two attempting to run away from the town, through the forest. I knew you'd wish to speak with them yourself," he added with a self-satisfied smile.

"Thank you, Sir Philip," Cromwell replied tiredly. "You can go now."

Visibly hurt, the officer's brow knitted and he began a sentence, but it was cut short by a glare from his General. He exited tight-lipped, his riding-boots stomping loudly down the hall as he left.

"So then," he began, staring that familiar stare into the eyes of the finely-dressed pair before him. "Who are you?"

"I am Sir John Smythe, and this is my good lady wife, Dame Rose Smythe," the Doctor replied. "Any chance of getting these ropes off?"

"Where is your estate?" Cromwell asked, ignoring the request.

"Gallifrey," the Doctor replied to a look of confusion from his interrogator. "It's…up North somewhere. You'll never have heard of it. Really, ropes? Necessary?"

"Sounds Irish to me," Cromwell replied. "Are you a Catholic?"

"No," the Doctor replied, "I love the Presbytarian Church, I do. Chanting, praying, banning Christmas, all that lot. Really, I'd take the ropes off her, at least - _I think she likes it_," he whispered, tilting his head towards Rose.

"Take the bloody ropes off them!" Cromwell barked, throwing himself back in his chair. The Doctor sighed in relief as a rough-handed soldier cut them loose, twisting his wrists and straightening his arms out. "Why were you escaping the town? Do you have something to hide? Something you wouldn't want your Lord Protector to see?"

"Not as such, no," the Doctor replied, keeping silent as Cromwell gestured for more.

"…Well?" He asked, drumming his fingers on the desk once more. He was reaching the end of his tether.

"Oh, you wanted more? Sorry, I'm rubbish with non-verbal cues. We were…making love. Simple as that." Rose flushed bright red and slapped the Doctor's arm hard. "Sorry, dear, _overturning the dahlias_. She's awful proper about such things," he muttered to Cromwell with a sympathetic nod.

Cromwell stared at the two of them intently. "Heathens," he muttered, baring his teeth like an animal. "Spies or not, you each deserve a turn in the stocks for your perversity. Lieutanant?" The lieutenant stepped forward. "Throw them in with the others. They'll learn a little decency down there, I feel."

The Doctor smiled the smile of a man resigned to madness as the lieutenant pulled he and Rose away and out of the room. "What the hell are you laughing at?" Rose hissed as they were led down a cramped flight of stairs.

"We just met Oliver Cromwell," the Doctor muttered with a fixed grin. "Horrific human being, murderer, dictator, but we just met him!"


	3. Chapter 3

**All thanks go to _ClareMansfield_ for being the best Beta a boy could possibly wish for. I do not own the Doctor or any non-original characters, etc. **

* * *

"Pack of savages. They got what they deserved," the older guard mumbled as he chewed on a slice of apple.

The young man frowned, tugging idly at a lock of hair poking out from beneath his helmet. "All I'm saying is it seems a bit…excessive," he replied softly, not meeting the gaze of his partner.

The older man swallowed angrily, his blotchy red nose wrinkling. "Were you there?" he asked the young man accusatorially. "No, you bloody weren't, so don't act like you know what it was like!"

"So I suppose you thought you were justified?" came the retort as the young man removed his helmet. "Shoving women and kids into a windmill and setting it alight?"

"You-" the older man began, his finger pointed dangerously at his companion's face as his ruddy cheeks puffed out like a toad. "You weren't there," he repeated, stabbing at the young man with his finger. "You weren't there."

The old man's whistling breaths were all that could be heard for a matter of seconds until the wooden door opened with a creak, discharging a finely-dressed couple into the muddy street. "Take 'em to the church," the burly guard inside grunted before slamming the door shut. Taking up their arms and standing behind the pair the soldiers got back to the job.

"Come on, we haven't got all day!" The older guard gave the Doctor a shove as they frog-marched them in the direction of the church, to the chagrin of both companions.

"I hope this is all some part of a master plan," Rose grumbled as her feet sank ankle-deep in mud, "because it doesn't seem to be going very well so far."

The grin on the Doctor's face still hadn't faded. "Plan? Me? Nah, I just make it up as I go along. Works pretty well most of the time," he replied airily, picking up his heels and casting his gaze about the sky as if he were simply out for a morning stroll. "What's those guns you're carrying, lads?" he called back to the guards, his eyes still fixed on the moving clouds.

"Shut it," the old guard grunted tiredly.

The young man shot him a frown and replied, "Flintlock muskets," ignoring a reproving look from his partner. "Made by Guy's of London. Finest gunsmith in the country."

"No complaints there," the old man muttered near-silently.

"Flintlocks?" The Doctor replied cheerily, his attention drawn to a pigeon roosting in the guttering of a run-down tavern. "Nice, nice, good guns. Never use them myself, really, but I do appreciate the craftsmanship. I suppose you've got your flash pans primed, being good soldiers and everything," the Doctor asked, turning his body to gesticulate over the younger soldier's weapon.

"Oi!" the older guard barked, slamming the butt of his rifle into the Doctor's arm. "Eyes front!" The Doctor's body turned back away, his smile flickering but not disappearing. "Don't act like you can chum your way out of this one, pal. I know your type," he ranted to a disapproving tut from his partner. "What are ya, Scot? Paddy? You look like a Celt either way," he taunted the Doctor, who winced. "Tricky buggers, all of ya's. Think you can talk your way out of the gallows themselves. Well I don't trust you, and _you_ shouldn't either," he commanded his companion, who looked down at the ground, half-embarrassed, half-ashamed.

Silence continued for a while before the younger man found his nerve again and said eloquently, "I must apologise for my comrade's…passion," as the older man groaned and shook his head, "he's not known for his delicacy."

The Doctor smiled a thin smile. "I'm sorry, too," he replied as his hand made its way imperceptibly into his inside pocket.

The younger guard gave a confused ripple of laughter. "What for?"

The Doctor extended his sonic screwdriver and thumbed the wheel around twice. "He's right."

With a press of the button the black powder in the soldier's flash pans ignited, sending a blinding puff of white smoke over them. Grabbing Rose by the arm the Doctor dived down a side street without looking back as the soldiers cursed and cried in their confusion.

"You make it up as you go along, do you?" Rose asked with an impressed smile as she ran as well she could in her heavy, mud-caked skirt.

"Like I said, works pretty well most of the time!" The Doctor replied, ushering Rose into an open cellar and slamming the trap door behind them, sealing it from the inside with the screwdriver. "Well then," the Doctor sighed, catching his breath, "they'll never suspect we're in here, and even if they do there's nothing they'll be able to do to get that door open; we just sit here, wait till nightfall and go back to the TARDIS."

Rose let out an exhausted giggle, panting from their run through the streets. The cellar was damp, cold and nearly pitch-black, but as long as the Doctor was there with her there was no discomfort she couldn't handle. "It's weird," she said, "I learned about the Civil War at school and all I remember thinking was, 'When am I ever going to need to know this stuff?' And now look, I'm here!"

The Doctor leant against a dripping, moss-covered wall and ruminated. "Your lot could probably do with brushing up on this part of history," he replied, not entirely unserious. "You killed a king and replaced him with a tyrant. If you thought the Britain of the 2000's was oppressed and Orwellian, you ain't seen nothing yet."

Rose stared down at the ground the way she always did when the Doctor reminded her of how much further ahead and away from her and the rest of humanity he was. _He doesn't mean it, _she'd tell herself. _He does it because he cares. _"But we learned in the end," she retorted, "giving the throne back to King Charles II, with all his mistresses. Eighteen illegitimate children," she announced proudly, savouring the recollection of a fact.

The Doctor's eyebrows raised in amusement. "So," he teased, "you were paying attention in school!"

Rose blushed. "Only in Mr. Smith's class," she replied with a shy smile. A bubble of laughter washed over them. "You know," she laughed, "if Big-nose back there was ready to put us in the stocks for…you know…in public, they'd probably hang us if they found us here together!"

The pair smiled, their sound of their lessening breaths steadily echoing around the small stone room. The silence seemed to drag on forever, and was only broken by a strained cough from the Doctor as he announced, "I'll see if I can get a bit more light in here."

As the sonic screwdriver whirred and whined away in the corner, Rose stretched back and turned her face up to the ceiling. The sound of clatters and clunks came from upstairs; mundane, everyday noises from a normal household. But she frowned as the noises became more suspicious; heavier, more frantic, and at the sound of something smashing she alerted the Doctor.

"Quiet!" she hissed, pointing up to the ceiling as the Doctor put on his glasses and listened intently. At least two men were arguing upstairs, and the argument quickly turned vicious; the clump and clomp of heavy boots resounded through the floor like a tango, with the odd deep, loud _boom_ of falling furniture. Their cries were confused, but the Doctor could make out that one of them was crying out for help. Then, as quickly as it had begun, it stopped; the movement ceased, and all that could be heard was a strange, faint gurgling. The gurgling stopped, and was followed by a final, heavy thump. The Doctor and Rose stared at each other.

"What just," Rose whispered, her eyes swimming with fear, "what just happened?"

The Doctor remained silent as the sound of fleet footsteps pattered over the ceiling, an opening door and a voice yelling "Help! Murder!" He winced as he heard the sound of clattering, clunking footsteps; the unmistakable sound of the cavalry well and truly charging in.

"Well," he sighed, "it was a good idea while it lasted."

"Of all the houses," Rose mumbled angrily, "we had to hide in, you had to choose the one someone was about to get _murdered_ in!"

The Doctor shrugged. "I make it up as I go along."

The inner door to the cellar opened and a booming voice called out into the dark: "Who's down there? Show yourselves!"

"I thought your people - I thought _you_ could, you know, read the time vortex or whatever, you know everything that might happen!" Rose whined as she began to tremble. "How could you not see this coming? Some Time Lord you are!"

"It doesn't quite work like that," the Doctor replied quickly, "I can see points in the time matrix where time is in flux and events are subject to change and when an event is locked immovably into time itself, but that doesn't give me the ability to know _what _might happen, that's a level of precognition that only - oh for God's sake, why are we doing this now? Alright, alright!" The Doctor called up the stairs, putting his hands above his head and ascending into the house. "It's a fair cop, guv, cor blimey, all that. Now if you don't mind me asking, what just happened up here?"

The red-uniformed figure stepped closer to the Doctor, bringing him out of silhouette as he pushed his long blonde hair out of his eyes. "I'm asking the questions," he said slowly, before a gloved fist sent the Doctor sprawling onto the floor. From somewhere behind he heard Rose call him, stars burst in front of his eyes, and as the face of Sir Philip loomed down over him the world went black.


	4. Chapter 4

Cold air filled the Doctor's lungs as consciousness returned. He was aware only of his arms being bent awkwardly behind him, his knees almost numb with ache from a cold stone floor, and a burning sting that covered his whole face. A faraway voice asked him a question he couldn't hear. "What?" he said, his eyes tightly closed. A powerful hand pushed the back of his head and the air was sucked back out of his lungs, his nose and throat filling with icy water.

Once more he was brought back to the real world, dripping and gasping. "What is your name?" the voice demanded, sounding irritated, as if it was fed up of repeating itself.

"I'm the Doctor," he yelled back, desperate, his chest heaving as his frozen and water-filled lungs struggled for air.

"Doctor what? Doctor who?" the voice went on, the hand on his head pulling at his hair painfully. "What's your name, _Doctor_?"

"I told you," the Doctor grunted through the pain, "I'm John Smythe. Doctor John Smythe."

The hand let go of his hair, dropping him to tumble down like a rag doll, almost bent double as he panted desperately. Where was he? What time was it? What day? How long had it gone on for? Why was it happening in the first place? His mind was frying, short-circuiting with each freezing submersion. All that existed was the hand, the voice and the cold.

"What were you doing in Matthew Farrar's basement?" the voice asked, calmer and quieter but no less forceful.

"I don't know," the Doctor replied, his chest fluttering with shuddering breaths. "I can't-can't remember." _Basement _- it rung a bell in the Doctor's mind. Rose was there with him, they'd been running, the men with muskets -

"You do remember!" The voice shrieked, twisting the Doctor's hair tightly once more. "You were casting a spell on him! How else could a man drown to death in his own home, and not leave a trace of water anywhere? Not even on his clothes!" The hand threw the Doctor's head forward and his forehead collided painfully with something edged and hard. Stars burst in front of his closed eyes once more and he rolled onto his front, his legs kicking desperately for some purchase as he realised his hands must have been tied behind his back.

"Ropes?" the Doctor cried out, riding the pain. "What is it with you people and ropes?" Almost at once he felt the hand grab his shoulder and a knife cut expertly through his bonds.

"You say you're a Doctor," the voice went on, softer and less throaty than before, "a man of learning." The Doctor found himself hauled onto his back and lifted up by the ruffleof his period shirt_. _"Well, help me here, Doctor. How in God's name can a man drown on dry land?" 

"Lots of different ways," the Doctor babbled, his eyes opening fractionally to admit blinding sunlight. "I know them all. And you know what they've all got in common?"

Whoever was holding him became ominously silent and still. "What?" he asked threateningly, barely above a whisper.

"None of them are witchcraft," the Doctor sighed, his legs aching beyond pain as blood flowed back down to his feet, letting him try to support himself. The voice let out a deep sigh and the hand released his shirt, setting him back down onto the ground with a stumble. The Doctor finally managed to open his eyes fully.

They were standing in the main street of the town, outside the house in which he and Rose had so recently been hiding. A priest wandered out of the open door where soldiers were standing guard, his cassock ridden with filth, and he shot the Doctor a superstitious look as he passed.

"Where's Rose?" The Doctor asked instinctively. "Where is she?"

"She's safe," the voice replied, and the Doctor wheeled to see Sir Philip, stripped to the waist and streaked with mud, panting with bruised knuckles on his left hand. As if reacting to the sight the Doctor's jaw began to ache. "General Cromwell refused to let the men mistreat a married woman. I decided not to tell him she wasn't really married," the officer muttered with a wry smile.

The Doctor's brow furrowed in disbelief. "How did you-"

"No rings on either of you. Besides," he replied simply, "no married man looks at his wife like that."

The Doctor nervously cleared his throat, surveying the scene. "You're a fast one," he admitted, "but I still don't like you."

Sir Philip laughed mirthlessly. "Understand me, Doctor," he began, advancing as he spoke, "one of the Lord Protector's highest-ranking spies has just been found murdered, and there's nothing on God's earth which could have possibly done it. Now, if I don't come up with an explanation for the General…" He didn't need to finish the sentence.

The Doctor stared at him impassively. "You just tortured me," he stated simply. "Not very well, mind you, but still. There's nothing on God's - or anyone's - earth which could compel me to assist you."

"But," Sir Philip replied softly, "you're still going to, aren't you?"

The Doctor looked down his nose slightly at Sir Philip and smiled a sad smile. "One day it'll be the death of me."

***

Rose sat slumped against the wall, weeping. The room, though lavishly furnished, felt dull and dead as the sunlight began to fade behind gathering clouds. That foppish soldier - Sir Philip - had ordered her taken to the Mayor's office as she'd kicked and screamed at him, yelling at the Doctor to wake up. The other soldiers hadn't made it much easier for her; she'd only stopped screaming once they'd threatened to gag her, and they'd shown no delicacy in tossing her into the guest room to await the "pleasures" of the General, as they'd told her with relish.

But worse than all of that, so much more unforgivable - the room they'd thrown her in had a window overlooking the scrivener's house. From high above and unable to do a thing about it, she'd watched Sir Philip torture the Doctor. She'd screamed till her throat hurt and banged at the glass so hard she feared her hands would go right through it, but if the soldiers in the street had heard her they hadn't paid attention. To see the Doctor brought down so low was heartbreaking for her; he was her protector, her guide, her guardian, and yet he seemed so helpless, so weak in the face of such brutality. If he died, she'd be stuck here forever - and worse still, Earth would be doomed.

Angry footsteps shuffled outside the door. "Come on, Paddy," came a familiarly gruff voice as Rose shuffled into the corner of the room. The door swung open and the guards from which she and the Doctor had escaped threw a scrawny, pale boy into the room. "Might as well make friends, you won't be seeing anyone else for a while!" the older guard grunted as his partner gave Rose a slightly embarrassed nod. The door slammed shut and their footsteps disappeared down the hall.

Rose crawled over to the boy, a bundle of rags and blankets shivering in the middle of the room. "Hello," she whispered, reaching out a hand to touch him. "Are you okay?"

The boy brought himself up to sit cross-legged on the floor, sniffing loudly. "I'll be fine," he mumbled back in a soft Irish brogue. A blanket over his shoulders obscured his face but for his mouth, and the rest of his body was swaddled in seemingly anything warm that could have been found.

"Why did they put you in here?" Rose asked, rubbing his shoulder sympathetically.

"I'm Mister-" the boy began, swallowing hard. "I _was_ Mister Farrar's apprentice. They want to ask me questions," he mumbled, hiccoughing.

"It'll be okay," Rose reassured him. "What happened?"

The boy was silent for a long while, as if corralling his thoughts. "I came down to sort lunch, like I usually do, and Mister Farrar was sat at the table with a knife." He paused, gulped and continue. "He said, _I should've known I couldn't trust you_, and he comes at me with it. He caught me a few times," he mumbled, lifting his left arm slightly, "and then he…he-"

It was too painful. He bowed his head and began to cry, shuddering uncontrollably. Rose reached out and embraced him, rocking him gently like a crying child. "He t-took the knife to my head," he managed to say at length, reaching up and pulling the blanket from his shoulders. Rose gasped as she saw the network of glistening red cuts over the boy's now-bald head, tufts and patches of hair still clinging to his temples.

"And then he, he started choking, like he was drowning," the boy went on, covering his head once more. "All this…water came spewing out of him, and he dropped down dead." He let out a deep sigh, visibly calmer. _He probably just needed to get it out_, thought Rose.

"Don't worry," Rose said, grasping his shoulders. "We're going to find out what happened to your master and we're going to get you out of here."

"How?" The boy replied sadly. "It's not possible, what happened…I'll be hanged for a witch for sure," he moaned, burying his head in his hands.

"Oh, no you won't," Rose retorted. "The Doctor will figure it out. He always does," she muttered proudly.

The boy wiped his dripping nose on his blanket. "The Doctor? Who's he?"

Rose paused for a second. "I guess you could say…I'm _his _apprentice."

The boy smiled softly and bowed his head. "I'm Colm," he said at length. "Colm Mac Niéll."

"Rose Tyler," Rose replied. "Nice to meet you."

A comfortable silence passed between them for a few moments until the leaden clomping of boots echoed back up the stairs. The door flew open as Rose and Colm held each other tightly, slowly backing towards the wall. "Come on, you little tart," said the red-faced old guard as he grabbed Rose by the wrist and picked her up while his partner stood helpless at the door. "The General would like a word."

They dragged Rose away to a cacophony of screams and curses, her hands reaching out into thin air, willing the Doctor to take them one last time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Once more, thanks go to _Clare Mansfield_ for being a top-notch Beta.**

* * *

"Oh, it's you again," he said in a nasal whine as Rose closed her eyes and yanked her wrist away from the heavy, callused hand of the red-faced guard.

"What do you want to ask me?" she snapped, regarding the ugly, copper-faced man still sitting where he had been before.

"It's about your husband, Lady Smythe," Cromwell replied, leaning back slightly. "About the manner of man he is." He gestured for Rose to sit and the guards behind her instantly fell back to take position by the door. "Your husband _is _a gentleman, is he not?"

"Absolutely," Rose replied softly, a flutter of pride burning in her chest. "Why would you think he wasn't?"

"So many men these days are nothing but bare-faced liars," Cromwell told her with a worried expression. "Cads and blackguards, the lot of them. I would hate to see a beautiful young thing like yourself…plucked by a cruel hand."

Rose smiled uncomfortably. "The D-my husband is the most wonderful man I have ever met." Her eyes met the General's as she felt him stare intently at her bosom. "No other man could even come close."

Cromwell smiled a twisted, yellow-toothed smile and opened a drawer in the bureau. "Your husband dropped this," he began, rifling through sheaves of paper, "when he was being…_detained _in Matthew Farrar's house," he said with a certain relish to the soft chuckle of the older guard. He pulled something from the drawer and tossed it towards Rose, who caught it awkwardly. She opened her hands and gasped to find a slim leather credit card holder staring back at her.

"Could you please open this item and tell me what you see?" Cromwell invited her, sickeningly pleasantly. Rose opened the wallet shakily and finally broke eye contact with her interrogator long enough to look down at it.

"I-" she stuttered, "I can't read, I'm afraid," she apologised, a waifish smile fluttering across her face.

Cromwell smiled back, his leathery face obviously attempting to convey something in the region of understanding and failing horribly. "Quite alright, my dear. You see, that piece of paper identifies your husband as the newly-appointed Archdeacon of Shrewsbury; what a mess we all got in over nothing!" He chuckled, his crooked smile widening.

Rose laughed back, her heart still pounding with fear. "I really should have told you earlier," she replied, a terrified rictus grin stuck to her face. "I was just… 'Argh, guns!'" she giggled harder, losing herself in hysteria.

Cromwell raised his eyebrows with an avuncular laugh, continuing, "The Archdeacon of Shrewsbury is not married," with a smaller laugh, "and he's seventy-five years old." The laughter had ceased now. "Does your husband look like an old man to you, Lady Smythe?"

Rose froze. "No," she replied softly, "no, he doesn't."

The atmosphere in the room was rock-solid. What did she do now? More importantly, what would _they_ do now? Would she be subject to the same treatment as the Doctor - or worse…?

"Sir! Lord Cromwell, Sir!" a voice came bursting in from outside the office. A worried-looking soldier crashed through the door and addressed Cromwell. "The Irish boy, he's escaped, Sir! He's taken off!"

Cromwell stood instinctively and marched around the table to the door. "Wright, with me," he barked at the older guard. "Cross, keep her here," he ordered his young companion, "and if something were to happen to her in my absence," he added quietly, "well…no witnesses means it didn't happen." The three soldiers swept out of the door as warlike cries rose all over the village.

The young card removed his helmet and laid it on the table, dropping his pike and leaning over the desk to breathe heavily. "God, I hate that man," he grunted, slamming his fist into the desk.

"Cromwell?" Rose asked nervously, her fingers playing with a tassel on her skirt.

"Wright," he replied, spitting the name out. "The man's a monster. Always going on about what he did in Ireland; women, children," he groaned with a pained sigh. "The others join in too, they think it's good sport. All to see who has the most horrible story or who did the most terrible thing, like bloody ghouls from an old wives' tale!" Cross pounded a fist into the desk. "When did this happen?" he roared. "When did a war against oppression turn into _this?_ Murder…murder," he whimpered feebly, falling to his knees before the desk like a sinner before the altar.

Rose got up and held Cross' shaking shoulders gently. "You're a good person," she reassured him. "The best I've met here so far."

The young soldier sniffed loudly and asked, "Really?" his eyes red and puffy as he looked up towards Rose.

"'Course," Rose smiled. "It's wrong, it's all so wrong…but you see that. You alone of all people," she mumbled quietly.

The soldier got to his knees slowly and calmed himself. "The door's unlocked," he told her softly. "I'm not part of this army anymore." He gave her a sad smile and squeezed her hand.

"Thank you," Rose whispered, humbled and thankful. She ran to the door and threw herself out into the corridor, pausing to remember which direction the exit lay in.

From behind her the quiet click of metal was almost imperceptible. Rose didn't realise what it was until the deafening bang that sent her ducking for cover rang out, echoing around the world. Stumbling back to the office, Rose threw open the door and instantly fell back, shrieking.

Cross was slumped against the desk, his body limp and peaceful. Smoke billowed gracefully from his open mouth, and the flintlock pistol on his finger fell to the ground with a heavy thump. Rose remained frozen to the spot for several minutes, unable to tear her eyes from the young man who'd promised so much.

When finally the blood returned to her feet, Rose raced frantically down the stairs and kicked her way out of the front door. She had to find the Doctor.

***

The kitchen was cold and cramped, and the Doctor had to turn sideways to ease himself past the soldier who stood guard at the door. The sizable frame of Matthew Farrar lay upon the table, his lower legs dangling over the edge. His eyes bulged and his mouth gaped, and the last traces of sticky, bubbling water clung to his cheek.

"Dunno about having all these guards here," the Doctor muttered as he watched a brace march up and down outside. "He's not going anywhere."

"They're not here to protect us from him," Sir Philip replied, his pale features seeming gaunt and skeletal in the dim, grey kitchen.

The Doctor sniffed, put his glasses on and bent down. "What's his story?" he asked, distractedly. "Where'd he come from? What was he like?"

Sir Philip frowned, confused. "How could that possibly help?"

"Oh, you never know," The Doctor replied, straightening up and slipping his hand inside his pocket. "Sometimes it's the smallest, most insignificant piece of information that solves a mystery," he explained as he pulled out his sonic screwdriver and twiddled it between his fingers.

"What is _that?_" Sir Philip spat, regarding the Doctor's hand suspiciously.

"Oh, will you relax?" The Doctor groaned, turning the dial on the side with his thumb. "It's just a screwdriver. Well…a kind of screwdriver, anyway. Made in Japan."

As the screwdriver glowed blue and whirred hypnotically over the corpse's chest, Sir Philip shook his head solemnly. "If I didn't need you as much I do," he grumbled, "I'd build your gallows myself."

The Doctor grinned. "Nah, you wouldn't," he replied facetiously. "Because _you_…don't believe in all this witchcraft malarky, do you?" he challenged him, staring down the bridge of his nose at the sullen-faced officer. Something in Sir Philip's eyes struck the Doctor like lightning. "Oh, no…" he continued, the smallest hint of a smile creeping at the edge of his mouth. "You don't haveto _believe_ in witchcraft, do you?"

Sir Philip dismissed the guard at the door with a look. Crossing the floor to the Doctor when he was sure they were alone, he muttered, "This was not witchcraft."

Their eyes met and locked furiously. "What happened to you?" the Doctor asked, understanding perfectly why Sir Philip was so keen to prove Matthew Farrar's death was not witchcraft. "When was it?" he asked, sympathetically.

Sir Philip's mouth tightened into a lipless line. "In Ireland," he whispered, not breaking his gaze with the Doctor, "I saw things. Things I can't explain…things I don't want to believe in."

The Doctor's face was grave and emotionless. "What was his story?" he repeated.

Sir Philip finally broke eye contact with the Doctor and wheeled away to lean against the table. "Matthew Farrar," he recited, irritated, "former Major in the Ironsides - my superior. Served at Naseby, Marston Moor, Edgehill, and served a full term in Ireland." Swallowing hard, Sir Philip added, "He saved my life at the siege of Drogheda. For that alone I prayed for him every night."

The Doctor nodded slowly and went back to running the bleeping screwdriver over the corpse. "What happened in Ireland?" He asked. "How'd he save your life?"

Sir Philip sighed slowly, seemingly reluctant to let the story out of him. "I was drowning," he replied bluntly. "I fell into a bog in full armour, and Major Farrar, he…he pulled me back out," he mumbled. "God alone knows how he found the strength."

"Well, look at him," the Doctor rambled, "he's a big…guy…" The Doctor froze and pulled his glasses off. "What did you say?" he asked, incredulous.

"I said God alone knows how he found-"

"No, no," the Doctor interrupted, waving his hands frantically, "the other bit, how he saved your life, what did you say?"

"I said I-" Sir Philip began, aggravated, but his words froze in his throat as he realised the significance of the event. "-I was drowning."

The Doctor nodded slowly, his grin threatening to take over his entire face. "That's a big one," he said to himself, elated. "That's a big one!" His eye was caught by the rustle of familiar peach-coloured silks outside the window as a young blonde girl emerged from a door, her skirts hitched up and her gait angry and purposeful. "Rose!" The Doctor cried, launching himself out of the door and running down the muddy street towards her like he hadn't seen her in years.


	6. Chapter 6

**Apologies for the uncharacteristically late upload. Once more all my thanks go to Clare Mansfield for being a fantastic Beta, and responsible for more than a few of the snappier sentences in this chapter. And of course, to my ever-growing readership. Gallifrey Rises!**

* * *

"Rose…" the Doctor sighed as he stood in the middle of the muddy street. His companion was heading straight for him, her dress dusty and filthy and her hair entirely out of place. After being knocked out, tortured and threatened with hanging, the one thing the Doctor needed was to know Rose, at least, was safe.

"Rose," he repeated as she neared him, holding out his arms to embrace her. But Rose steamed straight past the Doctor, almost knocking him out of the way as she marched on. The Doctor stood and watched, utterly baffled, as Rose made her way directly to Sir Philip.

"Now, I don't know what you're-" Sir Philip began. It was not a sentence he was destined to finish. Without breaking stride Rose swung her leg in a lethal arc, her foot crashing sickeningly between Sir Philip's legs. The officer went as white as a sheet and crumpled like wet cardboard, groaning and gasping for air as he writhed on the floor.

Rose leaned over the fallen soldier, wild-eyed. "No-one," she said, "_no-one _treats the Doctor like that!" She straightened up and marched back to the Doctor, stopping as she clocked his astonished glare. "…What?" she barked, frowning.

"I just…" the Doctor mumbled, still in shock, "I can't believe you…can't believe what you just…"

"He _tortured _you!" Rose screeched. "I saw it, from up there!" She pointed to the window high above them. "Did you really think I _wouldn't _ have something to say about it?"

The Doctor stared gape-mouthed at Rose as she stood with her hands on her hips, hair messy and dress ruined, with Sir Philip behind her being helped up gradually by a pair of sniggering guards. "Well," he began, desperately trying to get his train of thought back on track, "what happened to you up there? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," Rose said, stepping closer to the Doctor. "Cromwell called me for questioning. I think they know you're not…you know…_from here_," she whispered, glancing around to where the soldiers still stood menacingly. "He has the psychic paper."

"Oh, that's alright," the Doctor replied flippantly, "I've got a whole book of the stuff back on the TARDIS. Anyway, its effectiveness is linked to the proximity of the TARDIS' time vortex, so as soon as we shoot off it should just turn into normal paper. That really isn't the worst thing for me to be worrying about right now, is it?" He asked, clocking the look on Rose's face before turning to Sir Philip and saying, "I think it's time I had a word with Mister Cromwell."

As if on cue, Cromwell and a bevy of soldiers emerged from a side street and lined the road, their muskets primed and ready. "John Smythe!" he called out. "Or Doctor, as that is how you seem to style yourself; you have lied to the Lord Protector of the Commonwealth of Great Britain in matters of the most urgent national security, and as such you can only hope for a quick and painless death!" The air seemed to stop moving around the Doctor and his companion as Cromwell addressed them. "Or," he continued, "You can aid us in catching the murderer of Matthew Farrar, one Colm Mac Niéll."

"Bloody Irish scum," came a familiar rough voice, almost as a reflex, from the ranks of men.

"You!" Rose screamed, running to the side of the Doctor and attempting to launch herself at the soldier Wright, Cross' erstwhile partner and cause of his suicide.

"Woah, woah, woah!" The Doctor cried out, wrapping his arms around Rose and restraining her. "What's gotten into you?"

"Cross...that nice young soldier. He said he was fed up of serving with monsters." She turned her mutinous eyes in Wright's direction as she struggled to free herself from the Doctor's arms. "He shot himself and it's all thanks to him!"

You've done more than enough damage for one day, Rose!" The Doctor reprimanded her sternly, causing Rose to cease in her resistance as she whispered hideous threats to a visibly shaken Wright.

"What?" Wright asked, shifting on his feet uncomfortably. "What's she saying?"

"I couldn't possibly repeat it," The Doctor replied, staring Wright down.

"What do you say, Doctor?" Cromwell demanded once more. "Help us catch Mac Niéll and you shall be granted amnesty. It's the best offer you're going to get; should you refuse, then on your head be it."

The Doctor shook his head slowly, his lips curling into a grimace. "Oh, if only you knew what history's got in store for _your _head," he replied, his grimace turning into a grim - almost evil - smile. "I'll do it," he added, cutting off a confused look from Cromwell. "Just tell me what I need to know."

***

The Doctor, Rose, Cromwell and Sir Philip de Pevensey were gathered in the large, sumptuous dining-hall of the Mayor's residence. The Mayor himself nervously gulped down a large goblet of wine at one end of the table, his beady eyes never straying too far from the hands of the soldier who stood next to him. Half-a-dozen soldiers lined the walls with pikes raised, the tips of their weapons causing havoc with the painted ceiling ('Fourteenth century,' the Mayor had lamented, 'and now it's a chessboard!').

"Colm Mac Niéll returned with the Ironsides as a prisoner from Ireland," Sir Philip began, his gaze pointedly avoiding Rose's. "A personal prisoner of Major Farrar's," he added, raising his eyebrows for emphasis.

"A personal prisoner?" The Doctor asked, chewing on one end of his glasses. "How does that work?"

"Well, in the old days in Ireland, clan leaders could be taken as the personal prisoner of another clan leader; they were prisoners in name only, simply confined to their captor's village and as free to roam and greet as any other villager," Sir Philip explained, "and Mister Mac Niéll is, by virtue of being the last of his clan left alive, the clan leader. Major Farrar invoked the ancient law and brought him back to England."

"Why'd he do that?" Rose demanded, no less fierce than she had been outside.

"I don't know," Sir Philip admitted, showing his palms. "Maybe he took pity on him, he couldn't have been more than fourteen at the time."

"I think there's more to it than that," the Doctor muttered, putting his glasses away. "Someone lied…or is lying. Whatever happened to Mister Farrar could not have been committed by a human, and so that's what we're looking for. Something that isn't human."

"Witchcraft!" Cromwell barked, slamming his fist onto the table. "I knew it!"

"Just because something is not human," the Doctor explained very slowly and clearly, "does not mean it's witchcraft. Didn't you ever read Galileo? '_I refuse to believe that the same God who endowed us with sense and reason intended for us to forgo their use_', that's a brilliant quote! One of the greatest pieces of Renaissance thinking there is!" He proclaimed desperately, throwing his hands up in the air.

Cromwell was unamused. "You quote a heretic to insult my intelligence?"

The Doctor sighed deeply. "Wherever I go," he said softly, "things like this happen. I'm…drawn to disturbances like this. Things people can't explain. Things that scare them, and when they're scared people do stupid things. I'm here to help," he reassured the reddening General.

"You're here to spread discord in _my _Kingdom!" Cromwell roared, rising to his feet. "You're an agent of the Devil, Sir, and I will not allow you to-"

"Lord Cromwell!" Sir Philip barked, his volume surprising all in the room - none less so than the Mayor, who choked loudly on a mouthful of wine - "Lord Cromwell, I must protest! The Doctor is the most knowledgeable of all gathered here on this subject, and he graciously offered his help to me when he had no cause to! It was an act of true Christian goodness," he challenged Cromwell, his eyes narrow and serious.

Cromwell stood panting and hard-faced, staring Sir Philip down. "Your counsel is wise, Earl Pevensey," he muttered lowly, sitting back down. "Let us hope all your words are as sound."

"Right then!" The Doctor said brightly, trying desperately to inject a little adrenaline into the proceedings, "Sir Philip, what's your plan of action?"

"Find Mac Niéll, of course," Sir Philip replied. "Murderer or not, he's a key witness at the very least. And even you must admit, Doctor, that escaping like he did looks suspicious."

The Doctor sighed and shook his head. "He's just a kid," he retorted, "he was probably scared. He'll turn up in time."

"He _was _scared," Rose interjected, "terrified. He told me about what happened, but…it was odd, he didn't seem himself…"

"Ooh, the Lady's got an inkling!" The Doctor remarked with a smile as he took an applet from the platter.

Cromwell gave a derisive snort. "You'd trust the opinion of an illiterate woman?"

"Absolutely," the Doctor said with a beam, turning his intent gaze on Rose. "So come on, what is it? Animal? Mineral?" He took a large bite out of the apple. "Vegetable?"

A rapid knock at the door broke the silence as a soldier let himself in. "My Lord," he addressed Cromwell, "there's been another murder."

"Who is it?" Cromwell demanded, leaping to his feet.

"Wright, Sir," the soldier replied. "Sergeant William Wright."

The Doctor rose slowly, eyeing the soldier carefully. "Where was Sergeant Wright found?"

"In the river, Sir."

All eyes, Rose's included, turned towards the Doctor. "Alright," he sighed after a lengthy silence. "I'll drive."


	7. Chapter 7

**I would like to introduce this next chapter as a collaboration, since a very sizable chunk of it was the brainchild of my esteemed Beta, _Clare Mansfield_**_,_ **and deserves to be celebrated as _our_ baby rather than mine. Again, apologies for the late upload. Gallifrey Rises!**

* * *

The low hum of dragonflies pervaded throughout the walk to the river's edge. The Doctor, Rose, Sir Philip de Pevensey and Oliver Cromwell, along with half a dozen soldiers, trod a well-beaten path through the marshlands, shielding themselves from the blinding low sun with their hands and helmets.

"What did you mean back there," The Doctor said to Rose quietly, "he didn't seem himself?"

Rose looked around briefly to make sure she was not overheard and replied, "There was something about the look in his eyes…like he couldn't really remember it happening…"

The Doctor sniffed. "He'd just been scalped by his usually-benevolent master, it'd certainly put _me _out of sorts."

Rose shook her head, "No, it was more than that; when he was talking it was like he was telling a story, like…like he had been watching it happening to someone else…" The Doctor stopped walking, listening intently as Rose bit her lip and went on, "and it wasn't like those weird, tall people with the big foreheads we met on Ra…Ra…"

"The Ratorians," the Doctor finished for her.

Rose nodded. "Or like those parasites that get into your brain and make you speak entirely in the third person…what?"

A smile had crept across the Doctor's face and he shrugged as he put his hands inside his pockets. "Oh, nothing…you're just getting rather good at all this, is all."

"Oh, come on," Rose retorted with a self-satisfied smile, "travelling across time and space with nine-hundred-year-old know-it-all…I was bound to pick stuff up eventually!"

The Doctor couldn't help but laugh and on noticing that their guard was looking back in their direction, he took hold of Rose's arm and guided her back towards the group.

"What happened in Ireland?" Rose asked, out of the blue. The Doctor paled. "Cross said all the old soldiers bragged about doing stuff to women and children there…"

"The usual," the Doctor sighed, "when one society decides another is subhuman. Our friend up there," he muttered, nodding towards Cromwell at the head of the group, "decided to conquer Ireland once and for all. Wexford, Drogheda, Cork, all flattened. The campaign lasted four years," he explained, raising his voice fractionally as he saw Cromwell's head turn back slightly. "Four years…one million people dead."

Cromwell drew to a stop, causing the train of people to halt suddenly with a clank of armour. "What, Sir," Cromwell addressed the Doctor, "would you know of war?"

"Enough," the Doctor replied, his eyes burning into the back of Cromwell's head.

"Then surely you know that there can exist peoples and ideologies so utterly counter to one's own and so utterly bent on your destruction, that the only possible course is their annihilation?"

The Doctor swallowed hard but said nothing. He could feel Rose's gaze directed onto him. Cromwell gave a short laugh and enunciated slowly, "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone." Silence passed between the two for a beat before Cromwell turned and resumed the route, the caravan following haltingly.

The Doctor had frozen, his eyes fixed furiously onto the back of Cromwell's head, lost in helpless remorse. But suddenly there was the brush of fingertips against his wrist and the heat of a palm against his, and he looked up to see Rose smiling reassuringly as she guided him along the path.

The river was a good mile out of town, and the sun had almost set by the time the reached the bank. Two battle-scarred soldiers stood at a loose guard by the side of the road, their strong faces shaken. Weeds and rushes swayed in the warm summer breeze as the river lapped at the bare heels of the bloated corpse laying face-down in the mud. The Doctor skidded down the bank and knelt at Sergeant Wright's head, grimacing at the dead man's bulging eyes and lolling tongue.

"Two murders," The Doctor mused, "two soldiers. Both drowned."

"Wright wasn't meant to be here," Sir Philip muttered. "He was doing sentry duty at the edge of town. There's no way an old soldier like Wright would have abandoned his post-"

"-Unless he was dragged away," The Doctor interrupted, turning the body onto its back to reveal a bloody mess of dirt and rags, deep gouges etched painfully into the bare belly.

The two soldiers groaned and turned away, shielding their eyes from the ghastly sight. "You mean to say," Cromwell interjected, "that Sergeant Wright was dragged a full country mile from his post and drowned…and no-one heard?"

A hush fell over the group as Sir Philip mused aloud, "An able-bodied man, an experienced soldier, picked off and dragged away like a child in a fairytale…"

"Oh-ho, this is no fairytale!" The Doctor said excitedly, inhaling a lungful of warm, earthy air. "Water. That's the key!"

"Doesn't that narrow it down?" Rose asked, inching away from an increasingly irritable Cromwell. "Now that you know that?"

"I wish," the Doctor replied sadly. "Thing about aquatic life-forms is they're bloody difficult to pin down; they could be literally anywhere, anywhere there's water. Matthew Farrar's house was plumbed, wasn't it?" The Doctor asked the group in general.

"Yes," Sir Philip replied slowly, "yes, there was a pump in his kitchen."

"There," the Doctor snapped, "if his house was plumbed then he obviously got his water from here, and all it had to do was follow the pipes to get into his house. But…" he muttered to himself, staring out over the slow-moving river, "that still doesn't explain how it drowned him on dry land," he said as he ruffled his hair before mumbling, as if addressing the water itself, "What is it? Where are you?"

"Who found him?" Rose asked the guards, trying to be helpful.

"We did," one replied. "Actually," he added, deep in thought, "we weren't, were we?" He asked his partner.

"No," he replied, "No! We heard someone shouting, didn't we? Someone was crying blue bloody murder, screaming for help, and it weren't Bill!"

The Doctor stepped forward, intrigued. "Was it a man or a woman?" He pressed them. "Young or old?"

"It was a man," one of he guards replied to nods from his partner, "sounded quite young, too. Come to think of it, it sounded just like…ah…"

"Little Ned!" His partner chimed in triumphantly. "Sounded just like Little Ned!"

"Well," the Doctor said, "where's Little Ned now?"

"Oh, wait," the guard replied despondently, "can't have been him. Little Ned's up at the Mayor's

house."

"Still," Cromwell grunted, putting his body between the guard and the Doctor in a deliberate demonstration of authority, "I think it best if we suspect _everyone_ right now; even our own side," he growled, his eyes flashing dangerously at Sir Philip. "What's his full name and rank?"

"Corporal," the other guard piped up. "Corporal Edward…ah…Cross," he replied with a nod.

The Doctor's face dropped a hundred feet. Rose's eyes widened in fear and disbelief. "That's not possible," she said under her breath.

"What isn't?" Cromwell barked.

"Cross," she stammered. "He's dead."

"What?" Sir Philip hissed, leaping to his feet. "What do you mean, dead?"

"He shot himself…right in front of me in the Mayor's office!" Rose spat back at him angrily. "All because he had to serve with that monster!" She shrieked, pointing wildly at Wright's swollen corpse.

"That _monster_," one of the guards retorted, "has left behind a wife and five children! He hadn't even yet laid eyes on his youngest!"

"But-" Rose began, but the words dried up in her throat. "He killed-"

"'Course he bloody did, he was a soldier!" the other guard exclaimed. "And every penny he made fighting, he sent back home!"

Rose was shocked into silence. She'd never considered that such a gruff, foul man could have a family, and no-one deserved to lose a husband and father like that. No-one.

"As much as I'm enjoying this discourse into the duality of man," the Doctor spoke up, "can I just remind everyone that _a dead man is walking around and drowning people!_"

Cromwell bristled. Sir Philip shouted garbled orders and his men instantly formed rank, drawing weapons and scanning the horizon. The Doctor hopped back up the bank and grasped Rose's hand.

"I'm about seventy percent sure," he whispered conspiratorially, "that I know what's going on here."

"What?" Rose asked.

"Shh!" The Doctor interrupted, pressing a finger to his lips.

The sound of splashing and rustling caused them all to freeze. Four guns were trained on a quivering mass that rose out of the rushes, staggering towards them. "Halt!" Cromwell ordered. "Halt or we will fire!"

The figure stopped, swayed a second and fell forward as if fainting. The Doctor rushed to its side and cradled a scrawny, soaking male and whispered, "It's alright…I've got you," as Rose stepped forward.

"Colm?" she blurted, craning her neck to see his face.

The male turned his head painfully and squinted at Rose. "Oh, Rose Tyler," he whispered, "whatever heaven I've gone to…I don't deserve to be here…"

"How did you get here?" The Doctor asked Colm softly.

"The horse," Colm replied, his voice breathy and fragile. "The horse…" He let out a long, painful breath and went limp in the Doctor's arms.

Cromwell lowered his pistol slowly as the guards removed their helmets out of respect. "Did I just say seventy percent, Rose?" The Doctor asked his companion quietly as he held Colm's wet, naked body against his tightly. "Definitely seventy?" Rose nodded, shamefully brushing away the tears that fell silently down her cheeks.

"Make that one hundred," he whispered, his voice wavering as he reached down and closed Colm's eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks go to my Beta Clare and my loyal readership. It's been a wild eight days and I'm glad you were along for the ride...it's almost over now. Gallifrey Rises!**

* * *

The sun had slipped beneath the horizon half-way through the caravan's mad rush back to the village, the Doctor's long legs leading the way with Rose's hand in his, her skirts almost above her knees as she struggled to keep pace. Cromwell, Sir Philip and his men jogged heavily behind, their armour rattling deafeningly and their pikes weighing them down.

"What is it then?" Rose panted as she tried her best not to sink into any of the ruts that pocked the muddy path. "What kind of alien?"

"If I'm right," the Doctor replied, "and I usually am, then we've been going about this entirely the wrong way. I thought the answer would come from the water and the river, but it's the _victims!_ Where did Colm come from?" He asked Rose.

"Ireland," Rose replied, confused. "Why?"

"Who brought him over to England?"

"Matthew Farrar, I don't-"

"Who has just spent four years fighting in Ireland?" The Doctor asked triumphantly.

"Wright did, but Doctor, I really don't get where you're going with this," Rose replied, irritated.

"Three victims, all of them crossed paths in Ireland," The Doctor explained quickly. "Sir Philip told me earlier that Mister Farrar - back when he was Major Farrar - saved his life after he fell into a bog, pulled him right out, but I don't believe that for a second. Hold on," the Doctor muttered, rearing up to a stop. "I want to be sure."

The Doctor turned and held out his arms, whistling loudly. "Okay! I hate to interrupt this bracing run but I have a question for a member of the party!" He called out.

"What in God's name do you think you're doing?" Cromwell bellowed. "Witchery runs afoul in the town and you want to ask _us _questions?"

"Won't take long, promise," The Doctor replied flippantly, "I just have a question for the grumpy-looking fellow to your right."

Sir Philip turned behind him before realising the Doctor was referring to him. "What?" he demanded. "What the hell do you want from me?"

"The truth," The Doctor replied. "What happened in Ireland? In the bog?"

"I told you," Sir Philip hissed, "I fell in and nearly drowned. Major Farrar saved my life, now can we _please_ get going?"

"No, he didn't." The Doctor stated bluntly. "You were wearing full armour, you were sinking. No matter how big he was, Matthew Farrar couldn't have possibly pulled you out. Tell me _exactly_ what happened, or I promise you, everyone in that town is already dead."

Sir Philip closed his eyes and sighed, his mouth curling with distaste. "It was a horse," he replied through clenched teeth, to the muttered amazement of all. "A great, black horse just…leapt out of the bog like it lived down there, and pulled me out."

"What happened next?" The Doctor pressed on, taking a step nearer Sir Philip.

Sir Philip swallowed hard. "It changed," he replied, his voice croaking, "into a…man-beast. The head and hind legs of a horse, the body of a man, standing upright. It said something to me and I couldn't move…I was trapped lying down on the floor, and then I heard Major Farrar's voice. He was speaking Gaelic, and the horse…thing, whatever it was started screaming, and the moment I realised I could move again I…ran." The officer's pale cheeks burned furiously as he felt the gaze of his superior burning into him.

"You little heathen," Cromwell growled, his fists shaking with anger. "All this time you've borne the mark of the Devil? All this time?!"

"We need to get to the town," the Doctor cut across Cromwell, backing away and grabbing Rose's hand. "We need to save the townspeople, and _then _you can do what you like with Sir Philip!" Cromwell and the soldiers reluctantly acquiesced, resuming their jog as the Doctor ran as fast as Rose could keep up with him.

"What does that mean then?" Rose asked. "What does the horse mean?"

"Aguasakie," The Doctor replied, savouring every syllable, "shape-shifting aquatic parasite. Infects a sentient being and uses it as a host to lure prey in to drown. This'll be the first time one's ever been recorded on this side of the galaxy!"

"Then how-" Rose began before stumbling as one of her shoes slid almost off her foot, "How can you be sure of what it is?"

"Ancient Irish folklore," the Doctor explained, "mentions a shape-shifting, water-dwelling predator called the _aughiskey. _Guess what it appears to its prey as?"

"A horse!" Rose blurted out.

"By Jove, I think she's got it!" The Doctor cried out as the party came into view of the town gates.

Shoring up outside the gates, Cromwell ordered his men to search a nearby copse for fallen trees to use as a battering-ram as Sir Philip approached the Doctor and asked, "So how does this all fit together? How did the horse end up here, in England?"

"Right," The Doctor sighed, collecting his thoughts. "Beings like the Aguasakie are old, immensely old, and things that old are as stupid as they are dangerous. To control it, you only need speak its own name to it, and Bob's your uncle."

"No, he's not," Sir Philip replied plainly.

"Oh, right, wrong century," the Doctor muttered. "Anyway, if Farrar knew the Aguasakie for what it was then he'd have control over it, but that control wouldn't last. He'd need to be in close contact with it in order to maintain his hold over it."

"Colm," Rose blurted out, her mind slotting the pieces into place. "Colm was the Aguasakie!"

"Was being the operative word," the Doctor replied as the soldiers returned with a thick tree trunk, looping ropes underneath it and swinging it at the chained gates. "At some point the parasite must have left Colm and entered Cross."

"Cross and Wright brought Colm in for questioning!" Rose interjected excitedly.

"And then, " the Doctor mused, pacing up and down frantically, "and then…oh, yes, genius! He shot himself!" He exclaimed with a grin. Sir Philip and Rose looked unimpressed. "Things as old as Aguasakies are almost impossible to kill," The Doctor explained, "So it'd be able to shrug off a bullet to the head easily, but it needed _you_ to think Cross was dead!" He pointed to Rose. "It was counting on the fact that Cromwell would have locked us up the moment he laid eyes on us, leaving you lot to discover a body found by a dead man and me never suspecting that the nice boy who shot himself in front of Rose was a shape-shifting alien life form drowning people in seventeenth-century England! Oh, God, that's _brilliant!_"

As the Doctor reached his epiphany the sound of splintering wood rent the still night air. The battering-ram had breached the town's wooden gates, and as it was dragged away swiftly the Doctor wrapped his arm around Rose's shoulder and whispered, "Get to the back, Rose. Stay behind the soldiers. The Aguasakie's dangerous. Anything could happen beyond these gates."

"Not gonna happen," Rose whispered back. The Doctor moved to interrupt but Rose was adamant. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You're never going to listen, are you?"

Rose shook her head before her lips curled into a mischievous smile as she teased, "Besides, you said itself, things that are old tend be a bit thick. Perhaps I know better than you?"

The soldiers filed in through the breach in the gates and took up position, their muskets locked and loaded to cover Cromwell as he stepped through. "Cross!" He shouted into the dead streets, "or whatever demon now controls him! Surrender yourse-"

The words froze mid-sentence. Cromwell's faced dropped into, for the first time in years, terror. The soldiers lowered their muskets slowly and some babbled curses in ancient dialects. Sir Philip made his way through the breach and froze instantly, stumbling backwards into the Doctor as he helped Rose into the town.

"Watch it, ladies present!" The Doctor reprimanded Sir Philip, who simply stood staring straight in front of him. "Cat got your-"

"Doctor!" Rose blurted, her lip trembling as her eyes refused to be torn from the sight that greeted them. The Doctor turned and blanched as the scene unfolded by firelight.

In the middle of the main street a ring of torches cast fiery shadows across the houses and muddy ground. Within the circle of flames ten soldier's pikes were planted in the ground with their points up, and upon each point was impaled the soldier who, in life, had wielded it. Indiscriminate sobs and chokes revealed that at least one of the soldiers was still alive.

"See if any are still alive," Cromwell croaked to a soldier at his side. "If they are, shoot them." The soldier nodded solemnly and walked slowly to the pikes, gripping his musket tightly as his beady eyes scanned the dark side streets. Only careful footsteps, the quiet groans of the dying soldiers and the crackling of the torches broke the absolute silence that held sway over the group. Ten feet from the circle of pikes and the soldier's footsteps were entirely drowned out by the flames.

Out of nowhere a great rushing black shape shot across the street faster than shadow, smashing into the lone soldier and sending him flying into a brick wall, falling down limper than a boned fish. The remaining soldiers leapt into action and readied their guns as heavy, panting hoof beats echoed towards them.

"Ten of your Ironsides," came a deep, thunderous voice, "bleeding out onto the land of their birth. One each for a hundred thousand Irishmen," it spat as the beast hoved into view. It was just as Sir Philip had described; a man with the head and hind legs of a horse, standing upright, over ten feet tall. Two streams of misty breath billowed from its nostrils as its red eyes shone like embers.

"It lured us away," Sir Philip whispered, his lip trembling. "It lured General Cromwell and I away so it could do…this…"

"A-A-Aguasakie," Rose stuttered, "Aguasakie!"

"Not going to work, Rose," the Doctor said stiffly, "he killed the one man who could have controlled him. He's bought his freedom," he muttered quietly.

"Then what do we do now?" Rose whispered desperately.

The Doctor shrugged, opening his mouth to speak before being cut off by Cromwell's booming voice.

"Fire!"


	9. Chapter 9

**Thanks go to Clare for helping me with some of the better Rose lines, and to those of you who have been there from the beginning. Enjoy!**

* * *

A cacophony of cracks rent the air as half a dozen muskets discharged at once, spewing white smoke in blinding blankets across the group as the Doctor and Rose ducked. The Aguasakie roared and lowed in pain as hot musket-balls buried themselves deep into its black flesh, swinging out a massive arm and sending a soldier sprawling in pain.

"Reload!" Cromwell bellowed as the soldiers began to retreat, skidding backwards across the muddy ground as the horse-headed beast bellowed and advanced upon them.

"Ten of your best soldiers couldn't kill me, Cromwell," the Aguasakie growled as it delivered a brutal kick with its hind legs to a soldier charging with his sword. "Six won't fare much better."

"Begone!" The General cried, pointing accusatorially. "Spawn of Satan! I command you to leave my Commonwealth!"

"I don't think he's paying attention!" The Doctor shrieked over the roar of the soldiers and the bellowing of the Aguasakie. "I think we should do this my way!" he shouted in Cromwell's ear as he rose, grabbing the General by his shirt. "Aguasakie!" He addressed the creature, holding his hands in the air and putting his body between it and the soldiers. "In accordance with Convention 15 of the Shadow Proclamation I am ordering hostilities to cease in favour of parley!"

The Aguasakie spat a guttural roar at the Doctor. "It's too late for that, Peacemaker," it retorted, bending to level its face with the Doctor's. "These men have chosen their fate."

"And what happens when the Judoon find out about this?" The Doctor shot back. "When they find out you've been on a rampage on pre-industrialised Earth? This wasn't supposed to happen! You _made _it happen!"

A burst of hot steam streamed from the Aguasakie's nostrils. "Who are you," it hissed, "to know of what is and what should not be?"

"I'm the Doctor," he replied. "I'm a Time Lord."

The Aguasakie whinnied and reared up, roaring and snapping wildly. "Time Lord!" It bellowed. "Cowardly snakes in the grasses of reality! A son of Gallifrey dares to invoke the ancient rites of parley with I?"

"The Time Lords are bound by the Shadow Proclamation!" The Doctor yelled, his voice rising to a crescendo. "As are the Aguasakie! Now stand down!"

A low rumbling resonated through everyone's bones as the Aguasakie growled deeply before straightening up. "Very well," it replied in its thunderous bass, suddenly shrinking and changing shape until the naked form of Edward Cross stood before the group. "Speak," he demanded in Cross' soft voice.

"The Aguasakie were never meant to come to this world," the Doctor began, his words fast and furious. "If you had stayed in Ireland I could have overlooked it but now that you're here, you've gone beyond killing for survival," he said, shaking his head. "This is revenge."

"Aye, revenge," it replied, Cross' voice picking up the slightest Irish twinge. "Long overdue for what's been done to my people."

"Your people?" The Doctor interjected. "You preyed on them for who knows how long, they're no more your people than this lot are your people!"

"For eighteen thousand years," it retorted, "I lived in that bog. They knew of me; they feared me. They told tales about me, they scared their children with me. I was hated…but I was feared. For thousands of years they slew their strongest and his children and cast the bodies into my bog, and I would feed and grow strong and not need to prey upon them. And then _they _came," the Agausakie hissed, casting its eyes all around, "the missionaries. No-one made sacrifices anymore. I starved. Can you imagine, Doctor?" It spat, Cross' blue eyes burning red momentarily. "Laying at the bottom of a bog for a thousand years, your body wasting away into nothing? Every hundred years some drunk would fall in and I'd have to fight the pikes and crows off for the pickings. But all that was nothing…_nothing_ compared to what he brought upon my home," the Aguasakie exclaimed, pointing a damning finger at Cromwell.

"It wasn't," The Doctor repeated dangerously, "your home."

"Of course it was!" It screamed back, its body tightening and darkening as it growled. "I saw eight ages come and go in that bog! I saw a thousand generations rise and fall! And though they'd stopped sacrificing men to me, and though they didn't build temples to me anymore, they still knew me. They still _feared _me. They were _my _people."

"You've been planning this for years, haven't you?" The Doctor muttered, his pupils tiny pinpricks in his brown irises. "You brought Cromwell here."

"Mac Niéll," Sir Philip piped up, a sudden revelation hitting him. "He was the spy! Farrar taught you how to read and write so you could pass as his apprentice and you wrote letters implicating the Mayor in espionage!"

"You mean to martyr me?" Cromwell growled, pushing his way past the Doctor. "So be it! Damn your whole stinking, bog-black race! The moment I hit the ground Ireland will be reduced to rubble! Take your vengeance, Sir!" He cried, spreading his arms wide.

"No, Cromwell," it replied, a strange smile curling at the edge of its lips. "I wouldn't dream of killing you. In fact you shall emerge sole survivor of the carnage I'm about to wreak upon this town, chosen by God's own hand to live."

"What?" Cromwell babbled. "What does he mean?" He asked frantically, turning to the Doctor.

"He means you're next," the Doctor replied, staring the Aguasakie down. "You're his next host. He takes control of you, and he's in complete control of the United Kingdom. History changes, everything changes."

Cross' pale lips smiled eerily. "_Mallacht Croma__í__l,_" it enunciated with relish. "The Curse of Cromwell. Tonight, it ends…and begins anew."

"I think not," came a high-pitched growl as the glistening golden barrel of a fine flintlock pistol emerged between the Doctor and Cromwell's heads. Both of them shied away in pain and surprise as the gun fired, unleashing a crack to deafen the dead. Cross' body went flying backwards, a large black hole in his forehead weeping a dark blue liquid.

"What the hell did you do that for?" The Doctor demanded, advancing on Sir Philip until their noses were practically touching. "We were under code of parley! A very strictly defined and respected agreement of non-aggression, and you just shot him in the head!"

"You said yourself," Sir Philip replied, holstering his smoking pistol, "it wouldn't be enough to kill him."

"No," the Doctor replied, "but now all you've done is broken the terms of parley and wounded an unstoppable, ten-foot-tall alien who's going to be _really _angry when he wakes up!"

"He-" Sir Philip began, floundering. "He was threatening to-"

"Oh, will you just shut it_?_" Rose cried out, causing everyone to turn in her direction.

The group stood in stunned silence for a moment before Sir Philip finally ventured, "What did you say?"

"I told you to shut it!" Rose reiterated. "Ever since we got here the Doctor's been trying to help you…he's been doing the thinking for the both of you!" She gestured wildly at Cromwell. "But you were both too busy playing soldiers to listen!"

The Doctor stepped forward and silently laid a hand on her shoulder. "Rose," he said softly, but she didn't hear him as she pressed on.

"I knew boys like you at school, pushing around the younger kids, starting on other people to make themselves look big! All you had to do was listen-" Rose froze, unable to get more words out. The Doctor's hand cut into her shoulder.

"He could have saved us" Rose babbled, wiping away tears of frustration. "That was our only chance. Now you can't be saved…you don't deserve it…"

"No-one deserves that," the Doctor replied, staring at Sir Philip. "No-one is beyond redemption."

A snuffling snort broke the heavy air as the group turned to see Cross's body rising back onto its feet as if on wires, morphing and blackening demoniacally. "_Water_," it seethed, "_water from the little girl's eyes…give me the Time Lord!_" Cross' body changed spasmodically into that of a huge, jet-black horse, its hide glistening like oil and its mane a sickly slick of weeds and kelp. "_The feast of a lifetime!_"

The Aguasakie charged at the Doctor, its thundering hooves pounding down as its eyes glowed fiercely against its pitch-black body. The Doctor thrust his arm to the side to push Rose away while holding his other arm out towards the Aguasakie, which moved too fast for almost anyone to think. The Doctor scrunched his eyes shut as the shaking, heavy beast reared into sight before him, waiting to be flattened or sent flying, but the last thing he saw was a shock of blonde hair flowing across his field of vision before it felt like he was being dragged by the cuff of his shirt, flying turbulently away.

The Doctor opened his eyes and found his left arm stuck to the horse's flank, its skin as sticky and inescapable as the bog it came from. Twisting as his heels smacked against the ground he reached inside the pocket of his justacorps and pulled out the sonic screwdriver, pointing it at the skin clinging to his wrist and increasing the power higher and higher until the Aguasakie bucked, tossing the Doctor up and sending the screwdriver flying from his hand. The Doctor pulled and tugged at his left arm desperately as his steed began running out of road.

All of a sudden an arm appeared over the Aguasakie's back and buried its fingers in the beast's green mane, and Sir Philip heaved into view, holding onto its neck. He pulled a cannonball-sized bag of gunpowder from his belt and laid his foot carefully against the Doctor's wrist.

"No!" The Doctor yelled. "It doesn't have to be this way! We can both get off! You don't owe me anything!"

Sir Philip looked down at him impassively, pulling a flint from his pocket and opening the bag. "I'm not doing it for you!" He cried back before pushing down with his foot, forcing the Doctor loose to roll painfully along the hard, muddy ground, coughing and spluttering as he watched the Aguasakie leap up into the air as it reached the bank.

The explosion was deafening; a wave of sound forced the Doctor backwards as the blast sent his coat flying off, a gigantic white cloud expanding and billowing out over the scene, blinding the Doctor to everything but the sight of the great horse's lower half balancing precariously on its hooves before slumping backwards as a few strands of blonde hair whisked by him on the wind.


	10. Chapter 10

**To all my readers, thank you so much for your messages of support during this story. I've had so much fun writing it and I hope you'll enjoy my next story, to be hitting FFN within the week. And as always, my greatest thanks to my Beta Clare, without whom this story would literally have gotten nowhere. It has been an honour to write for all of you.**

**Gallifrey Rises!**

* * *

The Doctor's hands scooped away a small pile of loose earth and into the hole he'd made he placed a tarnished silver cross. He refilled the hole and patted the mound down neatly, rising to his feet and returning to Rose's side by the body of soldiers, their pikes raised and helmets at their chest.

"Ironsides," Cromwell began, standing at the front of the semi-circle of soldiers, "We are gathered here to pay tribute to our brother Sir Philip de Pevensey, who gave his life in the service of his country, that good might triumph over evil."

The Doctor's eyes flickered as Cromwell eulogised. Absent-mindedly he picked at the granules of dirt lodged beneath his fingernails until Rose gave his hand a squeeze. Together they lifted their heads to gaze upon Sir Philip's final-resting place; the little mound lay at the foot of a tall willow tree bordering the wood where the Doctor and Rose had arrived in the TARDIS, its thick boughs and branches swaying imperceptibly in the breeze. The cross had been all anyone was able to find of him.

The Doctor hadn't liked Sir Philip. In fact, he'd go so far as to say that no matter what situation he had met Sir Philip in, he wouldn't have liked him in any of them. And yet as he stood at the crest of the hill over looking the sleepy town of Ulverfell, watching the town return to normality at the start of a new day after the most exciting 24 hours in its history - yet or ever - he felt the old familiar guilt that hung from his neck like a stone weighing him down, heavier than ever. Jamie, Sara, Adric, so many others; here was just another name to add to that long list of the sacrifices made to the Doctor.

"In sure and certain hope," Cromwell's words came drifting across the Doctor's mind once more, "of the resurrection to eternal life through the Lord, who will transform our bodies that they may be conformed to His glory, who died, was buried, and rose to us again. To Him be glory forever. Amen."

"Amen," mumbled the crowd, the Doctor's dry mouth croaking out a wordless breath. The soldiers put their helmets back on and shuffled on their feet, waiting to be dismissed.

"Doctor," Cromwell addressed him, taking a few steps forward to behold him intimately, "I know not of where you came from, or where you go now. You have helped to save my Commonwealth from a grievous threat, and you have my thanks for it; but I have not forgotten the words you spoke to me last night. These things follow you," Cromwell accused him, his voice hushed in a quiet fear. "Where you tread, you herald only a storm. I hope we never meet again," he stated bluntly, turning to walk to the head of the mass of soldiers.

The soldiers formed a loose line and marched back towards the town at Cromwell's command, the General looking noticeably less confident on his horse than he had a day ago. "We won't," the Doctor replied into thin air as the army disappeared down the hill. Silently he turned and ushered Rose into the forest, making their way back to the TARDIS.

Silence followed, broken only by their footfalls in the darkness before dawn. Then suddenly the Doctor stopped, turned around to survey the twinkling stars that were rapidly disappearing on the horizon and began to speak very softly, "I'm tired of death." The cooing of a woodcock punctuated the pause as he went on, "You live as long as me and inevitably you're going to see suffering, you're going to see the people you love die off, but when I was younger I always thought I'd...harden to it." The Doctor sighed, casting his gaze to the ground. "Not anymore," he mumbled, shaking his head. "It only gets harder."

"How could you ever get used to something like that?" Rose said, her eyes fixing on the Doctor's face as he stared out into the rising sun. A tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Perhaps I never will."

Rose thought silently for a moment before stepping forward and saying, "If I were you and you were me right now, you know what you'd be saying, right?" The Doctor merely shrugged. Rose reached down to take both his hands in hers. "You'd be saying something about how this kind of stuff makes humans fantastic…our ability to feel and grieve and get on with things…"

"One day there'll be a choice you'll have to make," the Doctor had interrupted and was now gripping her hands very tightly. "A choice like Sir Philip was forced to…I don't want that to ever happen, Rose."

"Well, I'm afraid you're just going to have to accept that," Rose said with a mischievous smile before this faded slightly as she continued in earnest. "If I've told you once I must have told you a million times…I'm not leaving you, Doctor."

The Doctor smiled and turned about, leading Rose back towards the TARDIS with more of a spring in his step than before.

"There's one thing you said yesterday," Rose ventured after a minute of silence, "I don't know if you

were just being clever or anything, but…what did happen to Oliver Cromwell's head?"

The Doctor smirked. "Cromwell will be dead within five years and the Commonwealth won't survive the year without him. About ten years after that King Charles II will order his body dug up and beheaded and the head placed on a spike outside the Houses of Parliament…as a warning to any other politicians who might get the same idea," he muttered softly, bringing his lips close to Rose's ear as she giggled.

"For the next couple of centuries the head bounces around private owners until it vanishes for about fifty years and everyone assumes it's lost; then it turns up again and once they prove it really is his head, they finally decide to do something with it."

"Well, where's it now?" Rose pressed the Doctor as he fumbled in his dirty, ragged justacorps for the TARDIS key. "A museum? A castle?"

"Cambridge," the Doctor replied, slotting the key in the lock. "It gets given to Cromwell's old uni," he concluded with a grin as he disappeared inside the battered blue box.

Rose stood leaning against the TARDIS door for a matter of seconds, unsure whether to believe the Doctor. "No way," she said at last, following him inside. "You're making that bit up!"

"Time Lord," the Doctor replied, "very big imagination. If I wanted to make something up, it'd be a lot more bizarre than that."

Rose let out a short burst of laughter. "His old uni?" She repeated.

The Doctor nodded. "Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge. Only place they could find that'd willingly keep the thing; even three hundred years later there's a few die-hard Royalists willing to heap all sorts of indignities on it if they ever got the chance."

Rose bit her lip. A morbid thought crossed her mind. "Can we go see it?" she asked quietly, a strange smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

The Doctor inhaled sharply, "Sadly, no," he replied, deflating. "I wasn't lying about the Royalists, there really are people - even in _your _day and age - who haven't forgotten what he did to them. They buried the head in secret and to this day, only two people in the entire world know exactly where it's buried…and I don't think they're the gobby type."

"But," Rose interjected brightly, "I know for a fact you have a whole _book_ of psychic paper around here somewhere…what if I were to-"

"Oh, no, no, no, no," The Doctor cried out, shaking his head furiously as Rose began to run round the central console and pull out drawers and compartments all around the TARDIS. "Rose Tyler, don't you dare! That's for very important, galaxy-saving uses only!"

"Try and stop me, Time Lord!" Rose retorted, giggling as she narrowly escaped the Doctor's bony grasp. The Doctor laughed breathlessly as he reared up, panting with Rose as the TARDIS faded from view in the forest outside, its blue light flashing into the darkness as it slipped between worlds and disappeared.

***

"Have you done the Ancient Greek translation yet?" The fashionably-dressed young man asked his companion.

"No, I meant to start last night," the young woman replied, fiddling with her ponytail, "but I got caught up watching-"

"Oh, you and that bloody programme!" The young man ribbed her as they laughed together. "I don't know why I bother calling you on a Saturday evening, we both know what you're doing!" They chuckled some more as they walked down the immaculately paved path and turned into the gothic castle-like edifice that dominated the garden they'd been strolling around.

"Do you reckon it'll take long?" She asked him as they climbed a marble staircase, their footsteps echoing resoundingly in the old, empty halls.

"No, no, shouldn't take you more than an hour," he replied as they reached the top of the stairs. "There's a particularly difficult passage about halfway through, but I'd hate to deny you the pleasure of-"

"Oh, please!" The young woman whined, grabbing her partner's hand playfully. "I'll love you forever!"

The young man laughed and shook his head. "Well, if you don't do things for yourself, you'll never-"

The pair froze as they noticed a tall, slender figure wearing a long black robe, like a monk's habit, standing in the corridor. He moved very little, and his attention seemed utterly fixated on a plaque on the wall. As the couple stood still and breathed heavily, however, he turned his gaze towards them.

"Sorry, Father," the young woman apologised, leading the way around him and dragging her partner with her.

"I'm no priest," the robe-clad figure replied. "Just a poor sinner."

"Aren't we all," the young man joshed, grinning as his partner tugged him by the shirt and led him away from the piercing stare of the hooded man. As their footsteps and shadows faded away the figure turned back to the plaque and ran his eyes once more over the lettering.

_Near to this place was buried on 25 March 1960 the head of OLIVER CROMWELL _

_Lord Protector of the Commonwealth of England, Scotland & Ireland, Fellow Commoner of this College 1616-7._

The air in the corridor seemed to get a little chillier as the figure's blue eyes glistened the merest hint of red, shrugging its shoulder to let a cascade of thin blonde curls loose from against its neck. It nodded solemnly as it read the plaque one last time.

"We're even."

_THE END_


End file.
